


Polaroid

by realizingtheobvious



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Death, Other, Polaroid, nothing specific
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-26
Updated: 2012-06-26
Packaged: 2017-11-08 15:11:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/444531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/realizingtheobvious/pseuds/realizingtheobvious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave awakens to the angel of death at his doorstep, Jack Noir.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Polaroid

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little writing drabble with no real significance.

I dare to say that nothing could describe that pain. In no way could anything on the face of this planet—excuse me, the carapace of this universe—begin to effectively pronounce the pace at which the acute burning ate away at the root of my throat. A gasp escaped my lungs in such a way that my mouth forced its way open but a bit, for most of the air did not reach far enough to surpass my bloodied teeth. I heard an unsettling noise, and my eyes darted back and forth, slitted only slightly in reaction to the intense white light overshadowing my surroundings, blinding me. I panned my sight around me, hoping to locate the source of the noise, which continued to ring in my ears as some sort of gargle. I recognized the crisp tang of fire crackling away in the distance, and the harsh undertone of a being growling above me, where I lay my eyes next.   
  
He was blurred for a couple seconds before I could focus enough to process just how dangerous of a situation I had gotten myself into, one that I frankly couldn’t really remember. His fierce eyes and vengeful howl snapped me to my senses, and the pressure he was putting on my chest with his foot was increasing. For some goddamned reason, he was taking his time; enjoying the show; relishing in my confusion and the relinquishment of my power beneath his mangled body. With a slight lift of his jowls, he grimaced, and warm drops of his potent saliva rained down on me. All I could do then was weakly shield myself for a second with my palm, wishing only to obscure my sight of his face and prevent any further humiliation. It was then that I felt my own breath on my forearm. I discovered that lifting my neck was futile. How the hell he’d gotten behind me and managed to slit my throat deep enough to severe my ability to yell and yet preserve my life, prolonging the suffering, I have no idea.   
  
Oddly enough, my next thought wasn’t how I was going to get up to heroically and somewhat ironically beat this sucker’s ass given my lack of voice—the one that usually portrayed large intentions. It was a judgement; not about how unfortunate our lives had become at the hands of the game, and not at how I knew deep inside that John and Jade and Rose were already gone. No, I was thinking about how undeniably ugly this fucker was. He leaned forward, sweeping his putrid odor further into my sinuses, smiling the most undermining dog-grin I’d ever seen in all of my distorted time-lives. I attempted a grin back, just to show him. I wanted to instigate something that I knew I couldn’t win, not like that was unusual.   
  
“Jack.” I could only mutter single words if I tried hard enough, and when I did they came out like the screeches of broken records against cement. Rough, but in no way as sinister as I’d like them to. Pathetic, even.  
  
“Dave.” while world was becoming more and more indistinguishable, I could tell that his smile had diminished. He made not one blink before giving a taste, wiping that tongue of his against my left cheek, savoring the metallic blood and grime.  _Iron_ -ic, ha. Should have thought of that then, I bet he’d have found it pretty funny.   
  
At that moment, I could swear that all sound had cut out, leaving only my filtered breathing and his own. I felt his sword at my abdomen, twisting ever so slightly, just enough to puncture the fabric of my clothing and touch skin.   
  
“Kiss…” whether the end of that phrase was going to be  _my ass you bitch_  or  _your grave you insufferable piece of shit_  is insignificant, because Jade’s pet deep inside that monster flashed his irises for a moment, giving me a slobbery smooch not out of the need to taunt, but out of admiration. The puppy-love was gone immediately, and Jack slid his face away from mine, straightening his back to make an unexpected glance to his right. The common sounds of burning returned and the echo of a boy shouting faded into being audible. What he said wasn’t clear enough for my dying ears to understand, but beyond the white light encapsulating all that was around me was a glimpse of blazing blond hair.   
  
“Bro?” I squeaked, meekly, the adrenaline disappearing and the true extent of the pain in my neck escalating. Sword on sword, the scrape of metal on metal. My fingers twitched a bit, yearning for a blade of my own to fill the void in my palm. “Spar?” I managed a smile as the back of my neck shivered at the sensation of a cold pool of my own blood collecting on both sides of the ground. “Once?”  
  
Grunting behind me and the curdle of katana meeting flesh sent me spiralling back, years before I had to worry about what it felt like to bleed, before that clusterfuck of a game. I felt my intimidating elder’s arm around my young-boy shoulders, reminding me that I’d have more chances later to take him down at his own game, comforting me with the thought that someday, I could beat him. Kids at school would get enormous ribbons and cheap trophies for their merit. I received bruises. Each one was like an award to me, and if I could count more on my arms and legs than the years I had at the time, I was satisfied. If I was left on our rooftop, unconscious until the dawn rose up over the horizon, awaking me with its deceitful warmth after a night of being frozen, I’d laugh. Next time, I’d say. Next time he’ll be the one lying here. Juxtaposed, he’d be out in dreamland while I stood proudly, cracking my knuckles and extinguishing a victory spit from the ground with my heel.  
  
“Dave.”   
  
I’d be the one with the last laugh.  
  
“Dave.”   
  
He’d be the one counting his bruises.  
  
“Dave!”   
  
He’d be the one pleading  _uncle_  with both arms tied behind his back, his mouth tasting of salted dirt.  
  
“Dave, for fuck’s sake, wake up!”   
  
  
He’d be the one with a tear in his eye because God forbid he have a brother that would make him a sandwich rather than initiate project smackdown every time he pleased.  
  
“I swear to God, Dave, if you don’t wake up, I’m going to leave you here.” something wrapped around my back and lifted me up, my head falling crooked a bit, shocking me out of an oblivious reverie and into the real world. I sincerely wished this world wasn’t as true as it was. Bro wouldn’t come back to pick me up when I could very well will myself to do it on my own. This wasn’t my guardian.  
  
“Dirk.”  
  
“That’s goddamn right, you sack of bones, come on!” good thing his whole attire was already soiled, because him holding me piggyback was going to soak that shirt through. The hobbling turned my tunnel-vision topsy-turvy, kaleidoscope-style, and the murderous flap of wings accelerating behind us was the last thing I remembered ever hearing.  
  
A howl sprung from the heart of the dog, and the pain stopped. Dirk turned, the last picture in his mind being the sight of my head, lifeless on the ground.  
  
There’s nothing like a memorable polaroid to add to death’s collection.


End file.
